


passable imitation for festivity

by celestialshimmer



Series: (voices) soft as thunder [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: December 1997, Exposition Heavy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 00:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10321787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialshimmer/pseuds/celestialshimmer
Summary: Holidays were never the most special time of year for Blaise.Originally postedon tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

> request from Katie ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/katiesaygo) and [tumblr](http://bimylene.tumblr.com/)). I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Regarding the exposition, sorry I just have a lot of headcanons and info-dumped a lot of them at the beginning! I tried to do a decent job with it at least.

Holidays were never the most special time of year for Blaise. While this year it meant a blissful respite from the climate of fear that filled every corridor at school, Christmas cheer wasn’t exactly much better in the world beyond either. With war gripping the wizarding world and open destruction rampaging like it hadn’t ever before in his memory, this was certainly a break in the monotony of what the winter holiday from Hogwarts typically was for him.

Sure, he was going to spend the holiday around yet another new husband of his mother’s, and the most passable imitation for festivity the entire time would be a glass of Mother’s best Italian wine on New Year’s Eve, but things were certainly different this year.

For one thing, Blaise noted as his mother chatted with her new husband in Twilfitt and Tattings, the upper echelons of pureblood society mingled here today not because it was where they could buy fine robes and support an openly elitist management, but that it was one of the only remaining shops open on Diagon Alley at all. This was all there was for those who felt secure enough for their wellbeing under the new regime to dare wander outdoors, but did not want to spend their Christmas Eve in Knockturn Alley. His lips curled up a little when he thought about how Mother always disdainfully referred to it as “a den of thieves that attempts to appeal to the wizards with taste.” While her way of referring to purebloods was inherently elitist, her rejection of the Dark magic that so often went hand-in-hand with pureblood elitism was unique.

Drumming his fingers on the windowsill as he sipped the tea that Mr. Twilfitt had served to the customers, Blaise couldn’t help but be bitter at how empty the streets were despite the day. In the many years past when his mother dragged him here, Christmas Eve certainly seemed like the most bustling day Diagon Alley must see each year with last-minute shoppers. Even last year, when a few shop-owners had begun to close business and the customers had stayed home in fear, the war had not seemed quite so real yet, or at least things did not feel as bleak.

Once again, Blaise had to ask himself how he really felt about the prospects of the war. A year ago he had been almost indifferent, since neither his safety nor his mother’s would be at any risk, being wealthy purebloods. However, as the tendrils of destruction reached out to mark Blaise’s world in ways he had never actually imagined possible, he had been forced to the realization that not only would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named undoubtedly fail In improving the wizarding world at all, it would be a miracle if it survived his tyranny at all.

Even before Blaise had been forced to reckon with the seemingly-slippery issues of right and wrong, or how many lives he had to recognize were affected and destroyed, he had come to the conclusion over the summer break that the turning tides in the war were not the success his classmates like Malfoy and Parkinson thought they were. He had questioned first the methods of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and then later, the goals themselves. A glimpse into the alleys behind Madam Malkin’s abandoned shop where some Muggle-borns surely spent these cold winter nights proved that any former facade of respectability was false. A popular lie that Blaise had once believed was the notion that Muggle-borns truly did not need the wizarding world, and so it would just be better for them and purebloods alike if they were encouraged to remain separate. However, any idea of a peaceful and humanitarian strategy to remove Muggle-borns from the wizarding world that he had ever been convinced could be possible had flown out the window when Pius Thicknesse’s administration rounded up thousands and sent them to Azkaban. As the months had passed and the prisons grew too full to hold both them and political dissidents, some Muggle-borns had been begrudgingly released from the prison but with threats against trying to return to their lives and “continue infecting the Wizarding world.” The piece of propaganda released in the Daily Prophet explaining this decision, which led to so many innocent people left to fend for themselves in Diagon Alley without even being allowed to escape to the Muggle world, made Blaise feel ill.

And even if the Thicknesse regime and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had acted fully in fulfillment of goals that Blaise and so many others who were ill-informed had once believed in, he had now questioned his former ideological stances. So much had changed, and what was scary was how much it all linked back to one or two people and their impacts on him in a mere few months.

One person who had caused him to seriously reconsider many things was sitting in the wrought iron chair adjacent to Blaise. Pyotr Dolohov wouldn’t possibly know how his presence affected Blaise, as they had barely talked in the mere few months since Adriana Zabini had married him. Few of the men his mother married ever wanted to consider themselves a stepfather to him, which always complicated what Blaise’s relationship with them. But what made it even more difficult was that, on Blaise’s part at least, he knew they would likely not live very long. While the rumors were that his mother had killed husband after husband like a black widow, the truth was that she was just uncannily capable at picking out suitors who did not have long to live. Whether terminally ill, fond of an extraordinarily dangerous hobby, and in one instance taking on the position of the Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, each of his mother’s former husbands had passed away within a few years after she ensnared them. His father had been one she was unusually taken with, choosing to have a child with him before he had passed away in a perilous undersea dive as she had expected would happen. Her methodology in pursuing men and the serial rate at which she wed them was not exactly tasteful, which meant that even if the truth was more known the Zabinis still would be unwelcome in many pureblood houses obsessed with appearances. However, Blaise would adamantly assert to anyone who directly implied something untoward that his mother was doing nothing illegal at all. Well, or at least mostly - there was one exception, but he typically ignored that so nobody could say that even Adriana’s own son suspected her of killing one of her husbands. Besides, that one had deserved it.

So, given his mother’s propensity for choosing men who were marked for death and the fact she had never before been wrong, why would she have chosen Pyotr Dolohov? Dolohov had very recently moved to England to assist his relative Antonin in serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and it had utterly baffled Blaise when his mother began to pursue a man who was fighting for what, by all accounts, appeared to be the winning side of the war. Two of the previous seven husbands had taken a stand in the first war, one on each side. When she was younger and only widowed a few times thus far, she had married a Death Eater in the early years of the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as it had then seemed inevitable he would fail. Although that Death Eater had been killed as she had predicted, the tides of the war had clearly changed by the time she next wed an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had died fighting the Dark Arts before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated, and now that war had broken out again, it was shocking that this eighth husband was not one of the people who would more likely be killed. Adriana always declared herself apolitical and would not solidly pick one faction or another, so her choice in husband indicated only her intentions to inherit from him rather than any possibility of shared views. With pureblood pride but a dislike for Dark Arts rather than an affinity for it, it was not as if Death Eaters were her only options. Plenty of families who opposed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were elitist about Muggles, but possessed these ideas only in moderation or had one of many possible other reasons for opposing him. As a result of this, Blaise could only take Dolohov’s marriage into the family to mean one thing: his mother, who he had never known to be wrong before, was sure that this Death Eater would be killed.

His mother’s judgment of the war, while taciturn to say the least, was still trustworthy given Blaise had known her all of his life. However, the more persuasive - and far more verbose - party who had changed Blaise’s opinions was, at that moment he crossed his mind, strolling out of Flourish and Blotts and crossing the street.

Blaise leapt to his feet. “Just saw a school chum, going to say hello,” he murmured as Adriana turned her head a fraction towards him at the flurry of his robes.

Moving less quickly, desperate to not come across as - well, as desperate, Blaise strode out the door and wondered how to catch up to Anthony without running or shouting down Diagon Alley.

As it turned out, neither one was necessary at all. Anthony paused, apparently having noticed the Slytherin out of the corner of his eye. He turned around and waited for Blaise to make his way down the alley.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Anthony said with a note of surprise in his voice, but a small smile. “On today of all days.”

“My mum’s in the shops,” Blaise said with a nod over his shoulder. “She figured Christmas Eve would be perfect to go out into the cold just to see some friends.” He rolled his eyes. “We don’t have all that much to do with holidays, anyway.”

Anthony nodded. “I suppose we don’t either, or at least not with this holiday.” He paused. “I was meeting a friend.”

Curiosity surged, but Blaise ignored it. The fact Anthony trusted him enough to voluntarily share a detail that doubtless had to do with his Dumbledore’s Army activities meant a lot to him, and he was no longer at school to pretend for classmates pestering him for information. So instead of asking anything about this friend, Blaise asked “Where are you heading now?”

Anthony’s smile widened, becoming a little crooked on one side. “Muggle London, actually. Something inconceivable for you I’d imagine.”

Blaise feigned offense. “Excuse me? I’ve been there loads of times.” Anthony laughed, probably thinking Blaise meant going to Kings Cross Station each term rather than his old habits of frequenting various bars. He was unsure how to correct that probable assumption without awkwardness, though.

Anthony briefly looked him up and down, just a flick of his eyes. “If you weren’t in that getup, I’d ask you to come with me.” The casual words were betrayed by a look in Anthony’s eyes - was it hope? Disappointment? Something far from casual, whatever it was.

Blaise shrugged with his own falsely casual air. “Yeah, I suppose not this time.” The sight of Anthony’s corduroy trousers and heavy Muggle coat, though… he did have Muggle clothes of his own at home. “Perhaps another time though?”

His heart leapt as Anthony nodded and stepped forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Benefit of a near-empty street,” he whispered as he leaned close.

Blaise grinned and kissed Anthony deeper, but after only a few seconds broke away. “My mother…”

“Right, of course,” Anthony said. “We’ll wait until she’s not right next door.”

“Yeah,” Blaised said with one hand still resting on the nape of Anthony’s neck. He struggled to move even when he noticed it, and as Anthony lowered his eyelids slightly it was clear neither of them wanted to part.

“Sure you have to head out now?” he murmured after a while.

Anthony laughed. “Unfortunately yeah… it’ll take a while for me to walk home; the crowds of last-minute shoppers will be mayhem in the part of the city where they’re not at war.”

“Or at least where they don’t know they’re at war.” Blaise could not help but look down to avoid Anthony’s eyes. It felt too audacious to correct him on something like this where, mere months ago, Anthony had been the one to drill it into his head in the first place.

He could feel Anthony nodding, though, against his hand that was still pressed to his neck. “Well you’re right, of course. Hear that from someone really smart?”

When Blaise glanced up, there was a twinkle visible behind Anthony’s wire-rimmed glasses. Blaise smiled, a little out of relief that he had not fucked up and annoyed him. Their relationship was still full of sensitive subjects and complicated matters, but it was good to know not everything was delicate and would get him ostracized. Not like it was with some of his other Hogwarts… acquaintances.

“Well, I really ought to get going ,” Anthony said at long last. “Maybe we can meet back here on the 27th? Any sooner and Muggle London will still be too hectic.”

Blaise felt his heart jump for the second time in their short conversation, and wondered which part of Anthony’s words to read into more. Was the mention of Muggle London a test, to see if Blaise would still be interested in going when it was more than just a hypothetical? Or for the more positive idea, did Anthony mean he was just as eager to see each other again soon and not wait a day more than they had to?

They had precious little time to spend together at school with the need to go unnoticed, and their days of vacation were limited. It should be easy for Blaise to explain absences, especially if he used the Floo network some so his mother didn’t realize he was seeing another classmate right here in London. But still, the conditions where their relationship had developed over the weeks at Hogwarts left Blaise with the firm plan to make the most of whatever time they did have. He could not spend it obsessing over every word he heard; second-guessing every single thing he said. Not when it was becoming clear that he and Anthony were trusting each other more and more, growing closer than he had ever imagined. He had to use their time together well.

So, Blaise grinned and agreed. “In the Leaky Cauldron, same time.” He kissed Anthony again before the other wizard had to walk away at last.

As Blaise saw his silhouette disappear around a corner, he turned back to Twilfitt and Tattings. He walked back, not with a plan in his mind to tell his mother why he had spent so long just saying hello to any old friend, but rather when might be a good time to ask Anthony if he would like to properly decide to be boyfriends.


End file.
